


Strength or Solace

by UnexpectedSlushie



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: All of the TWs Associated With Mark Jefferson, All of the TWs Associated With The Dark Room, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Coma, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnexpectedSlushie/pseuds/UnexpectedSlushie
Summary: You carefully weigh your options.On the one hand these are your burdens to bear. No one else would believe you, let alone understand what happened to you. You feel insane even thinking about it, and you know it happened.On the other hand, it’s Chloe. The love of your life. If anyone would get it, it would be her. She’s at the end of her patience with you, and you get the sinking feeling that your relationship hangs in the balance.So you decide to do the only thing that you can do: You tell the truth.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Comments: 18
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

You are standing on the cliff near the lighthouse. The wind whips into you vicious and biting. The thunder crashes around you, a stark reminder of the death and destruction to come. The ice-cold rain pelts you. You can barely stand, and you are soaked and freezing. You have an awful headache pounding in your skull.

“Max, this is the only way,” Chloe says as she hands you the photo of the butterfly.

You know what she’s asking. You wish you didn’t. And a horrific dark feeling settles into the pit of your stomach.

“I feel like I took this shot a thousand years ago,” you choke out. The photo feels so heavy in your hands. You look at it as it blurs and shimmers slightly.

“You- You could use that photo to change everything right back to when you took that picture,” 

You turn to her looking up at her, tears in her eyes. She isn’t looking at you.

“All that would take is for me to… to…” Her bravado fades and her voice wavers. She puts her face into her hands.

“Fuck that! No… no way! You are my number one priority now. You are all that matters to me.” Your response is immediate, there is no fucking way you are letting her die. Not again. You don’t know where the rain ends and your tears begin.

She turns to you. “I know. You proved that over and over again… even though I don’t deserve it. I’m so selfish… not like my mom... Look what she had to give up and live through… and she did. She deserves so much more than to be killed by a storm in a fucking diner. Even my step… father deserves her alive. There are so many more people in Arcadia bay who should live... Way more than me... ”

“Don’t say that… I won’t trade you!” you all but yell.

“You’re not trading me. Maybe you’ve just been delaying my real destiny. Look at how many times I’ve almost died or actually died around you. Look at what’s happened in Arcadia Bay ever since you first saved me. I know I’ve been selfish, but for once I think I should accept my fate… our fate...” 

“Chloe…” you beg pathetically. Your throat feels like it’s full of gravel.

“Max, you finally came back to me this week, and you did nothing but show me your love and friendship. You made me smile and laugh, like I haven’t done in years.” She grasps your arms, but you can’t look into her eyes. “Wherever I end up after this… in whatever reality all those moments between us were real, and they’ll always be ours.”

You try again with no resolve. “Chloe, I can’t do this.” 

Her voice softens. “No, Max you’re the only one who can.” 

You know she’s right. You don’t want her to be right.

Fuck her for being right.

“Chloe... I’m so, so sorry… I- I don’t want to do this.” 

“I know, Max. But we have to. We have to save everybody, okay? And you’ll make those fuckers pay for what they did to Rachel,” she pleads. “Being together this week… it was the best farewell gift I could have hoped for. You’re my hero, Max.”

Her voice has the same tone as when she asked you in the other timeline to crank her IV to 11. The same cold, practical tone. Not erratic nor impulsive. A cold statement of necessary action.

You look at her and decide to do something you should have done a long time ago.

You take two slow steps forward placing one hand on Chloe’s cheek and the other on her neck. Then your lips are on hers. Kissing hers. She pulls you flush against her and she’s kissing back with everything she has. Her arms squeeze you in a death grip. You never want her to let go.

For a moment the world disappears around you. There is no rain, no wind, no storm. You aren't soaking wet and freezing cold. Your head doesn’t feel like it’s about to split open. There is none of the awful shit that happened to you. None of the stumbling through countless timelines and broken nightmares. 

Just you and Chloe.

It’s so full of love and desperation and Chloe. It fills in so much that was left unsaid. You don’t know how you lived without this , without her , for the better part of five years. 

How did you not see it? How could you have been so stupid and blind?

You love Chloe Price. You always have. And she loves you too. How could you have ever thought she hated you?

You don’t want this moment to end. You want to rewind and rewind and rewind until your head pops like an overinflated balloon.

But it does. Chloe breaks the kiss, and you crash back into the world.

She’s still holding you. It feels like she is holding you together too.

Your heart feels like it is going to explode from everything you are feeling. You wish you did this sooner, not one peck on a dare. You wish you had held her and kissed her for every moment you’ve been alive.

“Chloe. I love you.” 

She pulls back and looks into your eyes. “I love you too, Max. With all my heart. And I’ll always love you.”

You pull her into another tight embrace, and she hugs you back with equal ferocity. You stand there for a minute holding each other

She pulls back and looks into your eyes again.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Chloe says in a watery laugh, the slightest smirk gracing her lips. Only Chloe could crack such a morbid joke right now.

You want to scream and laugh and cry. All that comes out is “Or the one.” as a tiny whisper.

“Or the one,” Chloe repeats back to you.

She lets go of you and the dark feeling in the pit of your stomach coalesces into a ball.

“Now, get out of here, please! Do it before I freak!” she yells. “And Max Caulfield? Don’t you forget about me…”

“Never,” you whisper. As it escapes your lips, you’re not sure if she hears it or the howling wind claims it. It doesn’t matter, you never will. How could you forget about Chloe Price?

You turn from her and focus on the photo in your hand. It shimmers and pulses and sharpens into focus. You feel time ripple around you. You feel yourself dissociating from your body.

* * *

In a flash, you are back in the bathroom. You stand from taking a photo of the butterfly and shudder. It’s so jarring jumping into another timeline. It feels so weird to go from being drenched and frozen, to dry and warm. From the sounds of death and destruction to the mildly obnoxious hum of fluorescent lights. To your surprise you don’t have a splitting headache. And while you don’t feel physically exhausted, you do feel emotionally drained.

You look at the photo in your hand for a moment before letting it flutter to the ground. You breathe deeply, the smell of cleaning chemicals attacking your nose. This is the last time you will have to live through this fucking nightmare.

This is the last time you have to see Chloe die.

You peek around the corner peering into an empty bathroom. The harsh lighting and drab colors make the scene eerie. You lean back around the corner.

The door squeals open. It’s so loud.

Footsteps.

Then incoherent, panicked rambling.

Your mind can’t focus on the words Nathan is saying. The only thought in your mind is that Chloe will be dead soon. Tears sting your eyes. You feel nauseous.

The door opens again.

“So what do you want?” Nathan asks, annoyance replacing his panic.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say,” Chloe says.

Hearing that oh so familiar voice, grown up with that pissed off tone again hurts.

You think to yourself bitterly that it will be the last time that you hear it.

Your eyes are brimming with tears. You look to the ceiling, cursing whatever gods may be watching for being so fucking cruel to you. You sink to the floor pitifully, knowing how this will play out. Your knees to your chest, your hands on your head. You listen to it escalate. You listen to the rising fear in Chloe’s voice.

You know you can do nothing.

Some hero you turn out to be.

The gunshot makes you wince hard. It reverberates off the walls, crashing into your ears in a morbid cacophony. A taunt for letting Chloe die. A reminder of your failures that resonates through every fiber of your being. The ball of darkness is gnawing at you.

You cross your arms over your knees, placing your head on your arms and silent tears pour.

You never let it get this far. You rewound just after it happened. You knew that she would get shot. The difference between knowing something will happen and experiencing it is monumental. The reality of it is crushing; You are really going to let Chloe die.

You wonder what the fuck even is reality anymore?! You wonder what the rewind power even is? You wonder what the fuck was the point of having it if you couldn’t change anything without destroying Arcadia Bay.

You feel like the universe is playing a cruel trick on you. It forced you to relive all those horrible fucking moments countless times. Every single time Chloe died. Watching as Kate dropped from the roof. Finding Rachel Amber’s body. The Dark Room. And every other fucked up thing that happened during all of your time traveling.

You thought you fixed everything. You thought you saved Chloe from a universe trying its hardest to kill her. You thought you saved Kate when you grabbed her hand and pulled her down from the ledge. You thought you got justice for Rachel. You thought that what happened to you in The Dark Room was a small price to pay. You thought you fixed everything, or at least as much as you could have.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. You didn’t fix anything.

You wait for the edges of this moment to slowly swallow you, and to awake in a reality that isn’t quite your own. In a body that isn’t quite your own. At some point in the future, with a gap in your memory about how the future Max you jumped into got to that point. But it doesn’t come. The edges don’t slowly burn towards you and envelope you. You don’t feel yourself dissociating from this body. You don’t understand. What the hell is happening? Why are you still here?

You are drawn from your thoughts as you hear muffled yelling, and the fire alarm goes off in an abnormal pattern. Some part of your brain remembers it as the Code Black Siren.

An active shooter on campus.

It was part of the safety drills Blackwell ran at the beginning of the school year. It feels like you have lived an eternity since then.

You hear the door crash open and a commotion and yelling.

You hazard a peek around the corner. Nathan and David are grappling, but David easily overpowers him. David bounces Nathan’s head off of a sink with a sickening thunk. Nathan goes limp and falls to the ground unconscious. A small trickle of blood rolls down his forehead.

He deserves much worse.

David looks at Nathan for a split second, before taking in the full scene around him. His actions become frantic. He rips off his Blackwell security button down and kneels in front of Chloe, tying it to her stomach. He pushes her on to her back as the pool of blood grows around her.

“Eyes open! Stay with me, soldier!” he yells at Chloe.

He grabs his now dangling radio and barks into it. “The shooter is down. I need an immediate medevac in the first-floor girls’ bathroom. I repeat the shooter is down. I need an immediate medevac in the first-floor girls’ bathroom. Over.”

The radio chatters back, but you can’t make out the response.

It is then you realize that Chloe’s eyes are open and she is making strangled, pitiful sounds from the pain. You gasp in shock. 

She’s alive.

David looks over his shoulder and spots you immediately.

“You! I need you here now soldier!” he yells at you.

It’s surreal, like you aren’t even in control of your body. You are on your knees next to him in an instant.

You feel the blood seeping through your jeans.

Chloe’s Blood.

Tears are pouring down your face. David grabs your right wrist firmly and presses it to his shirt that is covering Chloe’s wound.

“I need you to apply direct, steady pressure here while I handcuff him.” he orders. You nod your understanding, and both of your hands shakily press against the shirt.

He gets up, and you look at Chloe’s face. Chloe’s eyes are mostly closed, but you see a flicker of recognition.

She says something garbled that you think was an attempt at a “Max”.

You shush her and keep pressure on the wound. You can feel the warm, sticky blood seeping through the shirt. You can feel the blood on your hands. You can feel more blood spurting, with each beat of Chloe’s heart. A deadly tattoo steadily inching her closer to death.

David returns and kneels on your right side. Her eyes are drooping heavily. You hear him curse under his breath, and say something that might have been “Not again.”

“Dammit, stay with me soldier, keep your fucking eyes open!” He shakes Chloe hard to no avail.

Her eyes close completely.

“Where is that fucking medevac?” David barks into the radio.

You glance at his face and see a mixture of fear and panic seeping through his stoic facade.

The voice over the radio crackles to life. “Emergency services are two minutes out. But they have to clear the building of possible shooters first.”

“Fuck clearing the building, the shooter is down and I have a soldier bleeding out. I need that medevac now!” David yells. His facade is gone. He is fully panicked.

He leans down to Chloe, and yells, “Stay with me, Becker!” His voice cracks. You see tears.

In some other universe, where your brain was working, you might’ve questioned why he called her Becker. But not in this one. Your brain is definitely not working.

Her eyes are shut. It reminds you of watching her fade after she asked you to put her out of her misery in the timeline she was paralyzed in.

You focus on Chloe’s lips which are turning blue. All you can think of is how they felt against yours, and how much you love her.

You are watching her die again. For about the billionth fucking time. But this is the only way to prevent The Storm.

Fuck everything.

The radio crackles again, but your brain is too melted to understand the words. What feels like an eternity later the door slams open revealing a paramedic. David pushes you back slightly. You watch, still on your knees, as the paramedics work on her before loading her limp body on to the stretcher.

You scream her name.

There are things said, but you can’t hear them. It feels like you have cotton balls in your ears.

Then, all at once, you feel that gnawing, dark ball inside of you go off like a firebomb. Every single fucked up thing that happened to you floods back and consumes you. You slam your fists onto the linoleum soaked in her blood. A guttural scream tears out of you. You slam the sides of your fists onto the floor again and again and again and again, as if it will change anything. As if it will stop the agony exploding inside of you. As if it will rid you of the memories of the horrors your experienced. 

You bury your face in your hands without thinking. You can feel her blood on your face. It’s sticky and the smell is overwhelming. Acrid and repulsive. You gag and a dry heave rips through you.

It’s too much.

You collapse on to your left side into the pool of blood before you and curl into the fetal position. Sobs wrack your thin frame, horrific, visceral sounds of anguish. You cry like you’ve never cried before. A torrent of tears streams down your face. Violent trembles tear through your body.

Your sobs are desperate, mangled sounds. Things inside of you deeper than muscles and bones and organs hurt .

You are crying so hard that you can barely breathe and some tiny dark part of you doesn’t want to anymore. Why should you? You couldn’t save your best friend and the love of your life. What’s your life without Chloe?

At some point, you hear worried voices around you, but you don’t care.

Chloe is dead and there is nothing you can do about it. Why the fuck do you have this “power”, that does nothing except torture you and make things worse?

Even worse than that the decision was always clear. Chloe’s life or the lives of the several thousand residents of Arcadia Bay. You didn’t even have the fucking courage to make the choice.

Chloe made it for you.

After everything you still were helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. After everything, Chloe still died. All your attempts to save her fruitless, all your suffering for naught. Why the fuck do you get to live? Why doesn’t Chloe? Why doesn’t Rachel?

Some fucking hero you are. You are a failure.

You feel yourself being lifted to your feet and hear indistinct voices as you are wrapped in a foil blanket. Your legs wobble and your feet feel impossibly heavy. You aren't walking as much as you are being dragged along out of the bathroom by whoever lifted you.

The bathroom where Chloe died, you think ruefully.

You are still sobbing as you hazily realize you are being led out of the building.

Through your tears, you see the faces of people standing on each side of the stairs, behind crime scene tape. Your classmates, your teachers, all with their eyes trained on you. Looking at you like you are some sort of crazed zoo animal being led away. Their faces are a mix of horror and shock and somber expressions.

You realize it is because you look like an extra from a slasher movie. That is minus the minor fact that you aren’t covered in red corn syrup or chocolate syrup.

You are led to an ambulance in the visitor parking lot and you sit on the back and the paramedic examines you. You stare at Chloe's rust bucket of a truck, parked across two handicap spaces, as she does.

The paramedic quickly realizes that none of the blood on you is yours.

As she tells you that you are free to go, one question screams to your mind.

“C-c-hloe-e?” you gurgle out. You’re not sure why. You already know what’s going to happen.

“The girl from the bathroom?” the paramedic asks.

You nod.

Her voice is solemn. “Another ambulance took her to the hospital. She’s probably already there. She was alive when she left here, but not in great shape.”

Arcadia Bay Hospital. You have to get there now. She was alive. She was still alive when they put her in the ambulance. Maybe just maybe she will stay that way. Maybe you haven’t failed her.

“C-c-an y-ou t-ta-ke m-m-e?” 

The paramedic eyes you carefully.

“It is against policy to do something like th-” she starts but you cut her off.

“Please?!” It’s an actual word this time, but your tone is hopelessly pathetic.

She sighs. “We are headed back for our shift change anyway, get in.”

* * *

You are sitting with your face in your hands, your shakey elbows propped against your knees. The smell of the blood on you is overpowering still, and you can feel it drying on your skin and in your hair. Your hands ache from the earlier abuse. Your mouth is bone dry and your throat is sore. You don’t know how long ago your tears stopped, but right now you are too tired to cry.

You yelled hysterically at the nurses working at the front desk asking about Chloe. You were almost removed by security, but the head nurse was able to calm you down. She led you here.

You occupy a cold, hard blue chair in the waiting room, near the operating room where Chloe is. The afternoon sun blazes in from the windows behind you.

You can’t help but ask yourself what the fuck you did in another life to deserve this? All the awful shit that has happened to you and that you have had to witness. Did you drive a bus full of blind orphans off a cliff? Burn down an animal shelter? What heinous shit could you have done to deserve any of this?

You wonder, more importantly, what the hell did Chloe do to deserve any of this? The universe was hell-bent on killing her. Time after time it found a way to kill her. Nathan shot her in the bathroom. She got stuck on the train tracks in front of a fast moving train. She shot herself in the junkyard with a ricochet. Jefferson shot her in the head. In the timeline where William lived, you fulfilled her request to end her life. Now, you are back to Nathan shooting her in the bathroom again. 

What a cruel twist of fate to have to sit here and wait for the doctors to come out. For them to say that they couldn't do anything, that she had lost too much blood. Some part of you hopes that isn't the case, but how could it not be? Her fate was almost certainly sealed.

Almost certainly.

Almost.

She was still alive when she left Blackwell.

You hope against all hope she stays that way. Maybe you haven’t failed her.

You sigh deeply, harshly rubbing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

Your mind wanders to thinking about your time traveling, and it feels like your brain is tying itself in knots. You’re not even sure how to think about it. How do you even describe the period of time between you jumping back to Jefferson’s class the first time and you photo jumping back to this timeline? How does that period of time even fit with your understanding of time? 

The best you can come up with is “That Week” since it happened over 5 weekdays (kind of) and it is separated from whatever timeline you are living in. You aren’t even sure that makes sense, considering you photo jumped back all over the place including to when you were 13.

You don’t even know where to start with the photo jumping. Were all those photos you jumped back into during your time travel separate timelines, or one continuous amalgamation of everything that you caused? Did any of that even “really” happen? 

Your brain is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that you even walked out of the bathroom in this timeline. 

This photo jump wasn’t like any of the other photo jumps you did. It didn’t fade in on itself, and you weren’t suddenly jolted into a future time. You were living through this. Your only thought is that maybe you are living through this because this is your “real” timeline. It is what would have happened if you never raised your hand and rewound time.

In this timeline, just over an hour ago in this world, you were listening to that monster Jefferson lecture. His words echo in your head mocking you. 

"Seriously, though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation."

Remembering his words makes you sick. You can feel the duct tape on your wrists again.

You are pulled from your confused brooding by a familiar voice before you can spiral more. 

“Max?!” Joyce exclaims in surprise. The familiar drawl laced heavily with worry and what you guess are tears.

You look up from your hands and see her approaching quickly with David in tow. She’s still in her work outfit, and her makeup smeared from tears. David is still partially covered in blood. Before you know if you are lifted to your feet in a fierce bear hug. You hug back just as tightly.

She pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders, and gives you a once over. “Goodness sweetheart, we need to get you cleaned up.”

You shake your head vigorously. The nurses here told you that same thing and your response was the same. You just can't bring yourself to care about cleaning up at the moment.

She was still alive when she left Blackwell. You have to be here for Chloe.

“Max…” she tries again, her voice and eyes filled with concern.

You again shake your head. You try to speak, but your mouth is too dry. All that comes out is a broken, miserable sound.

Joyce pushes you back onto the chair. Soon after she pushes a plastic cup of water into your hands demanding you drink.

You acquiesce to this request and place the cup to your dry, cracked lips. It feels heavenly as it passes your lips. You didn’t realize you were this thirsty before. You can taste a bit of that bloody irony taste in the water, likely from blood on your face or lips. You power through draining the cup in seconds. Your mouth and throat feel better.

You look up to see Joyce smiling at you with a tired smile. It makes you want to puke. She’s taking care of you, smiling at you while her daughter is almost certainly dying mere feet away.

“Now, you should get yourself cleaned up.”

You shake your head once more, and Joyce sighs in defeat.

"Did you at least call your parents?"

You shake your head. You probably should, but what would you say? You don’t trust your voice either at this point.

"Max, sweetheart, you should call them I'm sure they're worried sick," Joyce says in her mom voice. “Maybe you should go out front of the hospital? Get some fresh air and stretch your legs? I’ll come get you if the doctors come, Okay?”

Her words while phrased as questions were definitely orders. You don’t argue. You make your way outside pointedly ignoring all the looks you are drawing. You could care less. For now, you are Horror Movie Max. That Week of time travel and insanity would make a great and horrifying screenplay.

You step out of the hospital into the too warm fall air and the too bright evening sun. You bask in it a moment. It feels kind of nice, even against the dried blood on your face and hands. You swallow and remember why you came out here. You walk a bit towards some pine trees at the edge of the parking lot and lean back heavily against one of them. You can feel the rough bark against your back.

You take your phone out. It’s partially covered in blood, from what seeped through your jeans, but in working order, it seems. You try to wipe it with your sleeve, but that does little good. Your sleeves are bloody too. You sigh and find a bit of clean jean and wipe it. The clock on your phone reads 5:12 PM. When you unlock it you see 25 missed calls and 19 texts waiting for you.

You scroll through them. Most of the calls and messages, as expected, are from your parents begging you to call. To let them know you are okay. You aren’t, but you have to try for their sakes at least.

You tap the call back button, and it’s answered on the first ring.

It’s your mom. You can hear that she’s been crying. Her frantic voice calls out “Max?!” far too loud for your ear.

“Y-yeah.” Despite the water, your voice isn’t in great shape. You were right not to trust it.

You hear a relieved slightly muffled, “Ryan, it’s Max.” then rustling, “You’re on speaker phone with Dad too. Your principal called, he said that you witnessed a shooting on campus, but you weren’t hurt. He said you administered first aid to the person that got shot. He said he couldn’t give us any more detail. We were so worried. We are so worried Max.”

“I-I’m o-okay.” Your voice is still awful and your words absolutely unconvincing. They notice.

“Honey, you don’t sound okay. What happened?” Your dad this time. He’s been crying too.

“I- I…” you choke out.

“Honey?!” The alarm in your dad’s voice is clear.

You shakily inhale a few times, trying to get your ability to form words back. “I’m not h-hurt. I- I will c-call you later. I- I just c-can’t right n-now.” A sentence. Just barely.

“Max, honey, it’s okay. We are driving there right now. We will be there probably around 11 pm or so,” your Mom says.

They can’t come here. You hadn’t thought of this before, but you don’t even know for sure if letting Chloe die will stop The Storm. You don’t know what will happen if she survives the gunshot wound either. You need them as far away from Arcadia Bay as possible, just in case. You’re not sure you can handle seeing them right now anyway. You gather what little strength you have left, and still your voice as best as you can.

“M-mom, you really don’t need to come, I’m fine. I-I’ll call later. P-promise.” It comes out better, but still not good.

“Maxine, this isn’t up for discussion. Get some rest. We will let you know when we get there.”

Of course. They need to check on their helpless, worthless little daughter.

“Y-you don-” you try, but your mom cuts you off.

“Maxine.” Her voice leaves no room for argument.

You drop it. You let them say their goodbyes and listen to them tell you how much they love you and that they will see you soon. You return them in kind. In spite of your swirling thoughts and crushing guilt, you can't help but feel a bit better.

Once you get off the phone with them, you go through the rest of the notifications. There are a couple of concerned ones from Warren and Kate. They say they saw you walking out all bloody, and ask if you are okay.

You text Kate and Warren you are fine and that you will text them later.

You hope Kate is okay. You shudder at the image that flitters through your mind. You make a mental note to check up on her, lest you fail her like you failed Chloe.

You put your phone away and shamble back inside.

When you get back to the waiting area you see Joyce huddled up into David. You collapse into a chair several down from them hugging your knees tight to your chest. You rest your cheek on your right knee, eyes glued shut. You don’t know when you doze off.

* * *

You are jolted awake by Joyce’s voice and a hand on your shoulder. You long for it to have said wakey wakey eggs n’ bakey. You long for it to have woken you up while you curl around Chloe. Instead, it says, “Max, the doctor is here.” Instead, you are curled in on yourself.

Your eyes blink open. Your vision is bleary as you look around. Joyce is standing in front of you, her face stained with makeup ruined by long dried tears. You can see some blood on the front of her waitress uniform. You aren’t sure if she got it from hugging you or David. You see a man standing nearby in scrubs with a neutral look on his face, the doctor you assume. You see David standing by him, sort of wringing his hands. It is dark outside. You wonder what time it is.

You rub the sleep from your eyes. Your bones and muscles ache from falling asleep in such an awkward position. You wince as your clothes stick to your skin because of the blood. You try to stand, but end up stumbling into Joyce. She catches you without hesitation. She puts an arm around your shoulders as you lean heavily on to her tense shoulder. David walks to the other side of Joyce and claims her free hand. The doctor gives you a once over, but doesn't comment on the blood. 

The doctor introduces himself as Dr. Luke Hughes and starts talking about Chloe. “Mr. and Mrs. Madsen, Chloe is alive and in stable condition. It was a complex surgery, but we were able to stop the bleeding and remove all the bullet fragments. She is currently under heavy sedation.”

You, Joyce, and David let out a collective sigh of relief. You feel Joyce relax. You feel your heart leap.

Your brain fills with one thought: Chloe is alive. You resist the urge to jump for joy.

Dr. Hughes continues his tone even but caring. “The bullet pass into the upper part of the right lobe of her liver and became lodged there. The damage to her liver was significant, but given time her liver should make a full recovery. She did, however, lose a lot of blood, and there may be complications from th-”

Joyce cuts him off concerned, “Complications? Like what?”

You feel your chest tighten and your stomach drop. That urge to jump for joy is a distant memory.

“We won’t know if she will have any complications until we run more tests in the coming days, so I don’t want to panic you. She may have suffered kidney or other organ damage from the amount of blood she lost. I want to stress, we will not know until we run tests. But there is a possibility that she may need dialysis or other forms of treatment until her body heals.” Dr. Hughes’s reassuring tone does little for you.

Joyce nods her understanding.

“Finally, I want to alert you to the possibility, and I stress this is only a possibility and not a certainty. It is possible that she may have suffered damage to her brain from the blood loss. We will not know for certain if she has until she wakes up.”

“What do you mean damage to her brain? What does that mean exactly?” You can hear the worry in Joyce's voice.

"What it means would depend on the severity of the damage. On the less severe end, symptoms may include things such as minor memory loss, balance issues, and headaches. On the more severe end, it could mean severe memory loss and difficulty doing things like expressing thoughts or understanding others. In the absolute worst case it could mean partial or total paralysis."

You feel Joyce shudder next to you.

"I want to again emphasize that we will not know for certain until she wakes up. It is also distinctly possible she suffered no damage to her brain. For now, I’m certain you want to see her, so follow me." His optimism and hope are lost on you. It seems to have done little for Joyce too, who has become tense again.

The other shoe dropped. Chloe is going to need serious medical care for the rest of her life. Just like in the timeline where she was paralyzed. The soul-crushing guilt comes rushing back. You remember the mountain of bills just for Chloe’s basic care. You remember Chloe hating feeling helpless. You remember Chloe asking you to…

You aren’t even sure if a “life” like that is better than Chloe dying. You suddenly feel guilty for wishing she stayed alive. This is the result of your failure.

Your feet move forward automatically. Joyce’s arm is still wrapped around your shoulders helping you walk. The three of you follow Dr. Hughes to the ICU. 

You enter the hospital room and almost collapse at the sight of Chloe.

She’s laying in a hospital bed along the right wall, her body crisscrossed by a myriad of tubes and cords. Those tubes and cords connect to the machines that surround her bed, whirring and beeping. One of the tubes is secured with tape to her face and going into her mouth. Her skin is unnaturally pale, the harsh fluorescent light only serving to make her look worse. Her chest rises and falls with unnerving regularity and her electric blue hair splays messily on the pillow.

You did this to her. You failed her.

“As I stated before, she is currently heavily sedated.” The doctor’s words startle you a bit. You look towards him.

“She is currently attached to a ventilator to help her breathe while under the sedatives’ effects,” Dr. Hughes explains. “We will keep her sedated for at least the next two days as a precautionary measure. This will minimize her pain and stress as her body begins to heal.”

You don’t realize that you have walked over to her bed until you feel her cool, slightly rough hand grasped in your own.

“You folks should go home and get some rest. We will keep you notified of Chloe's condition,” Dr. Hughes says.

You turn to look at him and see Joyce giving him a hug saying “Thank You.” repeatedly. He gives a half hug back. David is standing nearby uncomfortable. He is looking at you and Chloe.

Joyce releases Dr. Hughes, but he pauses a moment before leaving. “Without the first aid administered at the scene by you two,” her says as motions to you and David. “She would not have made it. You saved her life as much as we did.” He leaves after that. 

It should make you feel better like you did something good but it doesn’t. You just did what David told you, after hiding. You failed her time and time again. You wonder what would have happened if you weren’t helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. You wonder if you could have saved her from getting shot and saved the town too. You wonder if you’ve doomed her to a fate worse than death.

Both you and David get long, tight hugs from Joyce. You don’t deserve it.

After the hugs, she presses a kiss to Chloe’s forehead. She whispers something into Chloe’s ear that you don’t catch.

She then agrees that you all should go home.

You let go of Chloe’s hand.

You don’t protest as she ushers you and David out of the hospital into the parking lot, and into David’s car. You sit in the back seat with your face pressed against the window. You probably shouldn’t. You probably are staining the glass. You don’t care.

The car is silent as David pulls out of the parking lot.

David clears his throat and his gruff voice breaks it. “Max, right?” despite your lack of response he continues anyway. “How do you know Joyce?”

You turn your head slightly to look forward. The question is directed at you. Innocent and curious. It clicks in your brain that of course in this timeline, David doesn’t know about you or your history with Chloe. It dawns on you that, you will have to be very careful about what you do and say. You know so many things that you shouldn’t.

Joyce glances back at you, before saving you from trying to talk. “Max and Chloe grew up together. They were joined at the hip, those two since Max was 4 and Chloe was 5. They spent nearly every waking minute together at our house or hers.” Joyce remembers fondly.

She glances back to you again, her tone shifts to something you can’t quite place. “Max moved away in 2008, though.” 

You shift in your seat. She forgot the part where you abandoned Chloe for 5 years. She probably picked up on the fact that you’ve been in Arcadia Bay without contacting her or Chloe.

The conversation dies. She doesn’t ask why you didn’t talk to Chloe for all those years or reconnect when you got back. You are thankful. You still don’t have good answers to those questions.

You refocus your gaze out the window, on the town passing you by. You realize you are heading away from Blackwell.

“Aren’t you taking me back to Blackwell?” you ask confused.

“There is no way I’m letting you go back to some dorm after the day you’ve had. You’re going to spend the night at our house after I get a nice home cooked meal into you.” Joyce says, mom voice at maximum strength.

You want to argue, but you think better of it. You know it’s not an argument you are going to win. Going to Blackwell and the dorms would probably be miserable anyway, too many memories from That Week. You aren't sure going to Chloe's house will be much better though. It’s not like there is any shortage of memories from the past and from That Week there. 

The rest of the drive is silent. When you arrive Joyce pushes you inside and steers you to a dining chair. You sit in silence as David goes to shower first, at your insistence. 

Joyce goes to the phone and after a beep Principal Wells' voice fills the room. He gives some generic condolences about what happened today and wishes Chloe a speedy recovery. He lacks a single modicum of sincerity. Just a robotic string of words said out of decorum and probably self-preservation. It doesn't surprise you in the slightest. He is a drunk puppet of the Prescotts and paid no mind to Nathan or Jefferson, who became a teacher at Blackwell at Sean Prescott's request. You remember all of the files about Nathan on Wells' computer, all of his issues purposely hidden until they reached a breaking point. Everything about his voicemail rubs you the wrong way.

You watch Joyce but see no outward reaction. After the voicemail ends, Joyce starts making dinner. You feel bad about it. You’re not the only one who has had a bad day. Her daughter almost died, and now her daughter's future may be bleaker than if she did die.

You try and fail to keep the memories of this house during That Week at bay.

David picking a fight. Commenting on your "Rachel Amber Halloween costume" as he put it. 

Exposing his surveillance and getting him kicked out of the house.

Chloe's new room, in the garage after the accident that paralyzed her.

Letting William leave, knowing that he was going to die in a horrific car accident. Burning that photo so that you could never jump back to that moment again.

You realize that the cameras are still here in this timeline. Joyce and Chloe don’t know about them. You don’t really have the presence of mind to deal with that right now though. 

Instead, you let the crushing guilt you feel consume you. You wallow for a while in your bad thoughts, before David comes down clean and tells you that you can use the shower. Joyce asks David to watch the stove for a minute while she tends to you.

You autopilot upstairs to the bathroom with Joyce. She pulls a towel and washcloth from the shelf handing them to you. She then motions to a trash bag on the floor by the door, with some of David’s clothes in it already. She tells you to put your dirty clothes in it and tells you to grab some of Chloe’s after you’re done. She leaves you to it.

You look at yourself for the first time since Chloe got shot. You agree with your earlier thought that you look like an extra from a slasher movie. You’re covered in brownish-red dried blood. All of your clothes, including your shoes, is drenched in it, and most of your exposed skin is stained too. Your left side is pretty much one big blood stain, from when you collapsed in her blood. Your face still has a significant amount of blood on it, with clear tear tracks running through the dried blood.

You sigh, before moving to take your messenger bag off your shoulder. You flinch hard has it pulls on your t-shirt which is cemented with dried blood to your bra and skin underneath. You’re more careful the second time you try to remove it. You hold it in front of you and examine it. The strap is ruined with blood. The bag itself is mostly unscathed save for a bit of blood splattered on it and one corner darkened with it. You set it down on the floor next to the garbage bag. You take your phone out of your pocket, placing it on the shelf, ignoring the new notifications it is showing you.

You carefully strip the rest of your ruined clothes off. You chuck it all, including your shoes, into the garbage bag.

You get into the shower and crank it as hot as it will go. You press your forehead against the tile as the water cascades down your back. You tremble a bit under the scalding spray, but make no effort to move out of it or change the temperature.

You watch as rivulets of water mixed with blood run down you and gather at your feet. You watch as the water tinted a brownish-pink coalesces then swirls down the drain. Your mind fills with of the kiss you shared with Chloe before you jumped back. That is quickly replaced with the guilt of knowing that she will never kiss you or anyone else ever again. You look down at your right arm silently cursing it for allowing you to rewind. Cursing it for mocking you with what could have been. You curse yourself for not figuring out how to save Chloe without ripping apart the fabric of spacetime.

You scrub yourself raw in a desperate attempt to escape those thoughts. You deliberately ignore the silent tears pouring down your face.

You step out of the shower and grab the towel that Joyce gave you. It’s Chloe’s well worn green towel, emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. You can see traces of blue stains on it. You’re still ignoring the tears as your dry off and wrap the towel around yourself. You grab your phone and use one of Joyce’s makeup wipes to get the remaining blood off of it.

You pad into the hallway and smell food. The thought of eating makes you nauseous. You swallow bile as you enter Chloe's room.

The memories crush you like an avalanche. You can smell the smoke from Chloe lighting a joint. You can feel the crushing disappointment of not being able to fix your camera. You can feel the joy of Chloe giving you William’s camera. You can feel Chloe's shock when she jumps back from the kiss she dared you to give her. You can hear the sickening sound of David's hand making contact with Chloe's face, while you were hiding like the coward you are in her closet. 

The memories of That Week are so much more vivid than normal memories. It’s like they are 3D projections filled with emotions, smells, and sounds. Your normal memories are flat 2D images in comparison.

You idly wonder if that little peck even counts as your first kiss. It was just a peck and happened in a different timeline.

You shake your head clear of thoughts and move to get dressed. You pull open the drawers of her dresser and grab an oversized T-shirt. You then absentmindedly search her drawers for some underwear. When you pull open her underwear drawer, you see some folded boxer briefs on one side. You feel a shot of warmth go through you as you imagine Chloe wearing them. Then a shot of guilt for doing so. You slam the drawer shut, and settle on just shorts instead. It’d be weird to wear her underwear anyway. You’re not even sure why you went looking in the first place. You curse yourself for thinking about Chloe like that right now. 

You dress and sit on the side of Chloe’s bed, and go through the notifications on your phone. The display says that is 10:34 pm.

There are a few updates from your parents, saying how soon they will get there. You shoot off a text letting them know you are at Joyce’s house. 

Kate sent you a text to take care, with a picture of Alice attached. Your heart melts a bit upon seeing the adorable bunny. You thank her for it. 

As you scroll to Warren’s message, just a message wishing you well, a revelation crashes over you. If Chloe is alive, that means The Storm is coming again. You were so caught up in worrying about her that you didn’t think about it. Death was her fate because you failed her. You are going to have to jump again and let her die on that bathroom floor. If you don’t The Storm will come and wipe out Arcadia Bay. Another realization pops into your head. Your fingers type into the digital keyboard with purpose. You have to know.

_**Max:** Did it snow today?_

_**Warren:** What?_

_**Warren:** No dude it was like 80 degrees today._

_**Max:** Are you sure?_

_**Warren:** Yeah. No snow today at all._

_**Warren:** It didn’t even rain. It was sunny all day, barely a cloud in the sky._

_**Warren:** are you sure you are ok?_

_**Max:** Yea. talk to you later, k?_

_**Warren:** later then Mad Max, glad you aren’t hurt._

_**Warren:** you have to tell me about this snow stuff tho._

That’s a relief at least. No snow means no storm right? You really hope so. You wonder if that means there was a way to prevent The Storm, and Chloe getting hurt all together? Were you too worthless to find that timeline? Your brain is too fried to make sense of this right now.

Just as you move to put your phone away, a new email notification beeps through your phone. It's from Principal Wells. Your eyes scan the words.

_Members of the Blackwell Community:_

_Today was a difficult day for our community. A student brought a gun on campus and harmed someone with it. A well-respected teacher was arrested after a series of disturbing revelations._

_Our community needs time to heal. Therefore, it is prudent to cancel all classes and all extracurricular activities for the remainder of the week. To facilitate this healing, I want to remind you that our 24 Hour Hotline (1-800-BLAWELL) has professional counselors you can speak with. In addition, we will have in-person counselors available to talk with students and faculty. Sign-ups for in-person sessions will begin tomorrow morning at 9 am in the main office. All sessions will be strictly confidential. If today’s events have affected you in any way I implore you to take advantage of these services._

_Principal Wells_

You reread the third sentence a dozen times. Jefferson was arrested. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. You hope they bury him underneath the prison. Even that is too good for him.

No class is good. Not that you were planning on going anyway.

Another email notification beeps through. It’s another email from Principal Wells, specifically for you, titled: Today’s Incident. You don’t open it. You know it will just be some cut and paste bullshit, like the phone call to Joyce was. 

You consider going down for food or waiting for your parents to get here and decide against it. You’re exhausted, that nap earlier did little for you. You also don’t want to face the world right now, nor your swirling thoughts and your suffocating guilt. You just want to hide, because you are helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield.

You slide under the comforter, falling asleep before your head hits the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! It’s been quite a while since I’ve written/published anything, so any feedback will be greatly appreciated! 
> 
> No promise, on update frequency, but this story currently has a few chapters done, and the major plot points are road mapped out. I hadn’t planned to publish it until it was finished, but I was gently coerced (bullied) by a friend to publish it, because it’s been sitting on my hard drive collecting dust for the last year.
> 
> Hope you have a lovely day :)


	2. Chapter 2

You stand by Chloe's hospital bed looking down on her. She looks much better. Her skin has returned to its natural shade, her lips are no longer tinted slightly blue. There is no longer the tube to the ventilator in her mouth. Her body is still crisscrossed with all manner of tubes and wires.  
Her eyes jerk open. You jump back out of shock. Her rage-filled eyes pin you in place.

"You are a failure, Max," Chloe snaps. Her gaze is one of pure hatred and malice.

"W-wha-" you try, but she cuts you off.

"You aren't a hero. You are helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield."

"Chloe..." you say, but she ignores you.

"You considered killing thousands of people. What kind of person does that Max? You couldn't even make the right decision. I forced you to because you don't have a spine. Because you were too helpless in the face of the reality caused by your failures."

You did consider it. You considered it because you failed to find a way to save Chloe, that didn't involve killing thousands of people.

"I wanted to save you Chloe," you whimper.

Chloe’s laugh is vitriol. "You did a great job of that Max. How many times did you watch me die? How many times did you have to rewind right after I died, because you were too stupid to figure out how to save me fast enough? And ultimately, I made you kill me so that thousands of people didn't die. You are worthless Max."

Tear sting your eyes. Her words cut through you like daggers. "W-Why are you saying these t-things?"

She's still ignoring you. "If anyone else had those powers they could have easily saved me and not rip apart spacetime. You didn't even suspect Jefferson, until after he shot me in the head. Your stupidity even got Victoria killed too. You were too busy gushing over him. You were too busy being infatuated with his photography. I'm sure you thought it was a great honor to be his last muse." She finishes with a bitter laugh.

You don't know what to say, so you just stand there pitifully. Tears are rolling down your face. She's right you didn't suspect him at all. How did you not see it sooner? Your stomach lurches at the thought of being his "muse".

"And oh look at the time you did actually manage to save my Dad. I couldn't move my limbs. I couldn't wipe my own ass. Mom and Dad drowned in my medical bills. Then you murdered me, Max."

"T-that's n-not true."

She lets out a humorless laugh. "And you have decided to do that all over again, but worse. You should have let me die in that bathroom. But you couldn't face the fact that you already failed me. You were helpless and listened to David because you can't think for yourself. I won't be able to move or talk or do anything on my own. I wonder how long it will take you to murder me this time."

You close your eyes, trying to keep yourself from crumbling.

"Open your eyes, Max. Look at the consequences of your failures. Look at what you did to me!" Chloe screams at you.

You open your eyes and look at her. You say the only thing that comes to mind. "I love you, Chloe."

"I never loved you, how could I love a failure like you, Max?"

* * *

You shoot up in bed, tears streaming down your face. You gasp raggedly for air. The room is only illuminated by the streetlight coming in through the window. You shove the heels of your hands against your eyes, desperately trying to push the nightmare away.

Nightmare Chloe's words ring in your ears. "I never loved you, how could anyone love a failure like you Max?"

You drop back to the bed and bury your face into Chloe's pillow muffling the sobs that flood out of you. It was just a nightmare, but Nightmare Chloe was right. You are a failure. You didn't suspect Jefferson until it was far too late. You couldn't save her, not meaningfully at least. She will live the rest of her life bedridden and completely unable to care for herself. Nightmare Chloe was right about you considering killing thousands of innocent people. What kind of person does that?

If you weren't helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield, you could have saved her without destroying Arcadia Bay.

You're not sure how long you cry into Chloe's pillow, but eventually, you pass out.

* * *

A soft knock on the door jolts you awake. It takes you a second to realize that you are in Chloe's room. You try to ignore the reason why. Soft morning light filters through the American flag turned curtain. You feel the trails of dried tears on your face. You feel awful. Your throat and chest hurt from all the crying and screaming you did yesterday. Your body is still sore in weird places from falling asleep on that chair. You feel drained and feeble.

The memory of waking up beside Chloe during That Week is so vivid. You can almost hear her saying "Photobomb." behind you. You can smell the acrid chlorine that had dried on your skin. You feel the warmth and happiness of that moment surge over you but it recedes all too quickly.

Another knock, followed with a tentative "Max?" It's Joyce.

You rub your face a bit, then get out of Chloe's bed. You wobble over to the door pulling it open. Joyce is standing there with a soft smile on her face. You're not sure why but you wrap her in a tight hug. Joyce hugs you back. You take an awkward step back and hug yourself.

"Are you doing okay?" The hoarse words tumble out without your permission. You wince. How could she be okay? Her daughter is barely alive, because of your failures. "Dumb question."

"Not at all. I'll be okay Max." Her tone is optimistic. "Your parents came by last night, but you were already asleep. I don't blame you, you had a long day. We all did."

You feel the guilt bubbling up in you again. Here she is taking care of you, while her daughter is in the hospital. Her daughter who will never walk or talk again. All because of your failures. You feel tears in your eyes again and you hate yourself for it. All you can do is cry because you are helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. You furiously swipe at your eyes. Joyce pulls you into another hug.

"Chloe is going to be fine, you know. It's going to take more than a gunshot and some blood loss to keep her down. She's too stubborn for that."

You wish you shared her confidence and optimism, but you know better. Chloe's fate is determined.

Despite your thoughts, you feel yourself calming down. The spiraling slows and the guilt shrivels.

"Your parents will be here soon, you should get cleaned up and dressed before they get here," Joyce instructs as she releases you.

You nod your agreement and shuffle into the bathroom. You wash your face but pause as you pick up Chloe's toothbrush. It feels wrong to use a toothbrush she won't ever be able to use again. You put it back in the cup and brush your teeth with a bit of toothpaste on your finger. As you turn to leave the bathroom, you notice your messenger bag on the floor. You take it to Chloe's room, emptying the contents on the floor.

Most of the contents including your camera look no worse for wear. The only thing that is bloodied is your diary. An entire corner of it is soaked in blood. You flip through it noticing your last entry on October 1st, but you can still vividly remember the other entries that filled the diary. You toss it and the bag in Chloe's trash can without a thought. You place your camera and the rest of the assorted junk from your bag on the foot of the bed.

You pause at the closet considering what you should wear. It feels wrong to wear Rachel's clothes again, especially without Chloe's express permission. The problem is that Chloe's pants probably won't fit you. You waffle for a minute, before pulling on a band tee from Chloe's dresser, a pair of Rachel's jeans, and a pair of her Converse. You're going commando, much to your chagrin. You vow to change as soon as possible.

You flop on to the bed, grabbing your phone. You see that it is almost 9, as you begin to mechanically check through your notifications. They are all from your parents confirming what Joyce already told you. As you scroll through your messages you go through your conversation with Warren again. You get an urge to double check what he said about the snow.

You google "Arcadia Bay Snow", and are relieved when the latest article is from March. It's about the record low snowfall amounts Arcadia Bay received last winter.

You decide to navigate to Arcadia Bay Online News, to figure out what else happened yesterday.

The main headline is about the shooting at Blackwell. It is very vague on details, the only real one it has is that Nathan Prescott was the suspected shooter. At the bottom of the article, another headline catches your interest.

Missing Teen Found Dead, Prominent Photographer and Teacher Arrested in Connection.

It confirms what Principal Wells said in his email. Jefferson was arrested. You skim the rest of the article. It's equally sparse with details. The few it does have stick out to you. They found Rachel's body and Jefferson had GHB, syringes, and duct tape in his car.

The memories of finding her flashes to your mind. Your stomach turns as the smell of rotting flesh fills your nose. You can hear Chloe's heart-wrenching cries.

Then, it's dark and you can feel the needle forced into your neck. You can see Chloe drop lifeless to the ground with a bullet hole in her forehead.

You are able to hold down a retch, but you still feel the burn of bile in the back of your throat. Your fingers fumble your first attempt to close out the article. Before you get a second chance a number you don't recognize flashes across the screen. You hesitate for a second before deciding to pick it up.

"Hello, is this Maxine Caulfield?" an unfamiliar woman asks. Her voice is resolute and formal.

"Y-yes, w-who is this?" Your throat aches and your words coming out gravelly. You are still recovering from the memory.

"I am Special Agent Valerie Paxton. I am with the FBI."

You wonder why it's the FBI instead of the Arcadia Bay Police Department. Maybe a murder investigation is out of their league, or perhaps it’s because it was a school shooting? You guess either way it’s too big for the ABPD to protect Nathan from, even if his father does “own” them.

You realize they probably they wanted to interview you yesterday, but you kind of ran off. Not that you would have been much use to them, you were even more of a wreck yesterday than you are now.

"You want to talk to me about yesterday?"

"Indeed we do Ms. Caulfield. You were the only witness to the incident, and we would like to get a statement from you. Would you be able to come down to the Arcadia Bay police station later today?" Her voice has shifted to be less formal and more cordial.

You wonder if you can handle that right now. That horrible event and you being scrutinized and dissected. You wonder what Nathan told the Police. They did find Rachel and arrest Jefferson, but there was no mention of the Dark Room. You must have been silent too long because Special Agent Paxton speaks.

"I understand yesterday must have been very hard for you. If you can't do it today, that's fine."

At that moment, Chloe's words from the cliff hit you like a truck. "And you'll make those fuckers pay for what they did to Rachel." You have to do this for her. You can't fail her again.

"N-no, today is f-fine." You wish your words were as resolute as you feel.

"You don't have to today if you don't want to, are you sure?" she asks with a tinge of concern.

"Yeah… um… is 1 pm good?"

"1 pm is fine. When you get to the police station, just ask for me at the front desk."

"Okay… bye..." You close awkwardly.

"See you soon, Ms. Caulfield."

After the call ends, you wonder what you will say to them about what happened yesterday. You know Chloe was trying to blackmail Nathan, and that could get her in big trouble too. That is assuming that she even is herself when she wakes up, not mute and paralyzed. That seems like a long shot though, you know Chloe's fate. You decide it's still probably best not to tell them about the blackmail, but you don't know exactly what to tell them instead. You don't know if you can even pass off a lie, especially to an FBI agent. You've always been a woeful liar.

The doorbell rings, pulling you from your concerns momentarily. You slink downstairs to see your parents in the entryway talking to Joyce. Your parents are profusely thanking her for taking care of you.

Your mom envelopes you in a hug instantly and plants a firm kiss on your forehead. You hug back and see your dad standing right behind her with a loving smile on his face. He joins in on Operation Max Squeeze, making it into a group hug. You all stand like that for a moment, words unnecessary.

You're overcome with a sudden deluge of joy, the warmth of their parental love filling you. You've missed them so much. For the first time in what feels like ages, you feel somewhat safe. It's so nice seeing them again, you just wish it was under different circumstances. You wish this wasn't clouded by the nagging uncertainty of them dying in a massive tornado with the rest of Arcadia Bay.

Your stomach picks an inconvenient time to remind you that the last time you ate was almost a full day ago. A middling turkey sandwich and some tater tots from Blackwell's cafeteria for lunch.

"When was the last time you ate Max?" your mom demands.

"Um, lunch... yesterday..." you say, as you sheepishly rub your left bicep with your right hand. "I kind of fell asleep before eating last night..."

You glance at Joyce who has retreated further back into the hallway, feeling bad about not eating what she made for dinner last night. There is a pensive look on her face. You wonder what she's thinking about. Maybe that she may never hug her daughter like that again. Maybe about the day William died and how Chloe collapsed on the floor sobbing in this very same entryway with Joyce hugging her.

"Car! Now!" your mom orders.

You give a small wave to Joyce, and your parents give her genuine well wishes as you leave. There aren't a lot of options open this early so your parents settle on McDonald's. You hide your relief that they didn't pick the Two Whales. You inhale too much food, as you and your parents make idle chatter. You feel better with a stomach full of empty calories.

Unfortunately, that ease ends when they take you to their hotel room at the Harbor Inn. The outside of the building is run down with time, but the room, while dated, looks ok. There is a door directly to your right that leads to a bathroom. There are two beds covered in garish sheets against one wall, between them sits a nightstand with a phone and a lamp. An ancient CRT TV is on the dressers across from them. There is a small desk in one corner of the far wall.

Your parents sit you down on the left side of the far bed and sit across from you on the other bed.

"Max, we completely understand if you don't want to talk about yesterday yet, but if you can we want to know what happened," your dad says in a comforting tone, your mom nodding her agreement beside him.

You aren't quite ready to deal with it, but it's not like you have a choice really. You have to talk to Special Agent Paxton today, and if you can't even talk to your parents about this how can you possibly face her?

With a sharp sigh, you begin. You tell them most of what happened in the bathroom, leaving out why Chloe was in there. You, however, do include the fact you hadn't talked to her since you came back and that you didn't even recognize her at first. You pick your words carefully, trying to ensure that you don't let anything you aren't supposed to know slip. Your parents nod along their understanding as you speak. You tell them about going to the hospital, meeting Joyce there.

When you tell them about Chloe's condition you breakdown. You start repeating how it was your fault and how you failed her. Your parents move from the other bed and sit on either side of you, embracing and consoling you saying that it wasn't your fault. They use words like "brave" and "hero", and even though you know the truth they keep most of the bubbling guilt at bay. The tears fade as quickly as they came. Getting it off of your chest while being in their grasps makes you feel quite a bit better. The guilt is much quieter now. You sit like that for a moment, silence filling the air.

You long to tell them about the time travel stuff, about That Week. To tell them about every fucked up thing that happened, to maybe get that off your chest too, but you know that you can't. Even your parents probably wouldn't believe you, not that you would blame them. It is bizarre and unbelievable to you, even though you experienced it all.

Some part of you wonders, if any of it did actually happen. If That Week and this timeline are just elaborate fantasies created by your mind to deal with seeing Chloe get shot. That part of you questions whether what you are living is a fiction, while you're really locked in a padded room somewhere mumbling about time travel.

But this can't be just a product of your imagination, can it? They found Rachel right where you found her during That Week. They arrested Jefferson who had drugs and tape in his car, the same MO he had during That Week. On top of that, everything you experience felt real. Every second of it. Even the broken, twisted nightmares on the last day. The ones you were in between collapsing on the beach and Chloe carrying you up to the lighthouse. You can still feel the primal terror you had of being spotted by one of those flashlights. How could it not be real?

You completely zoned out as your internal battle rages. You don't realize that you are crying again until you feel your dad's thumb swipe at a tear. Another series of reassurances of how everything will be okay and how much they love you flow from your parents. They are a lifesaver thrown into the rough, choppy waters of your mind. You cling onto it and let yourself be pulled out of that perilous spiral of thoughts by their warmth and love.

"Um... I guess I should tell you that an FBI agent wants to talk to me about yesterday. I said I would see her this afternoon at 1." You fidget with your hands as you speak, purposely looking down at the well-worn carpet of the room.

"Sweetheart, are you sure about that? Talking to us is one thing but to the police? Are you sure you don't need more time?" your dad asks.

"I'll be okay, Pop," you say as you turn to him, trying to sound confident. You try to smile but from his reaction, it was probably more of a grimace.

You see your dad, glance behind you exchanging a silent conversation with your mom.

"Max, Dad and I have been talking." Your mom's words are careful. "After what happened yesterday, we think it's best if you move back home."

You consider her words, pondering what exactly is left for you here in Arcadia Bay. Mostly horrific memories and the consequences of your failures. You came back to Arcadia Bay to study under Jefferson and by extension study at Blackwell. Quite obviously that is gone, disappearing with Jefferson's fucked up crimes.

You have no other attachment to Blackwell outside of Kate and Warren really. Certainly not academic nor any other friendships. Plus, you get the feeling that the memories of That Week will haunt you all over campus and all over Arcadia Bay.

Chloe is the only reason why you want to stay. Chloe, the girl you love with all of your heart and the girl you failed time and time again. She won't even be herself. She'll be worse off than the timeline she was paralyzed in. You don't know if you could face that every day, the aftermath of your failures. But you also can't abandon her, not again. Not after everything you've been through with her, even if it was during That Week.

"No!" you yell. The volume of your voice surprises even you.

You look between the surprised looks on their faces, panic rising in you. Your mind immediately goes to the fact that you may have no input in this decision. That you might be forced to leave Chloe again when she needs you the most. That you might abandon her again. You are starting to hyperventilate and the tears threaten again. You are so sick of crying. It makes you feel so helpless and out of control of your emotions. Maybe they are right, you can't function if you are going to be this much of a wreck. Warm hands rubbing up and down your back combined with soft, loving words are another lifesaver dragging you from the brink of panic.

Your mom crouches in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders, looking up into your eyes.

"Max, we aren't going to force you to if you don't want to, you are an adult after all, but we do want you to think about it. You went through something very traumatic, and maybe it will be better if you are at home while you deal with it," your mom tells you.

Your dad jumps in with a "We will support any decision you make."

"You don't have to make your decision now," your mom continues. "We have a meeting with Principal Wells on Friday, and we can discuss it then."

"Friday?" you ask confused.

"Yes sweetie, Friday. We figured it would be best if we gave you some time to recover before talking with Principal Wells about what happened yesterday. We will be staying here until then."

You are just able to control the latest surge of anxiety, and try to come up with a reason for them to get out of town. You're still not sure about The Storm, and it would make you feel much better if they weren't here.

"What about work? A week is a long time won't you get in trouble?"

It's a lame protest and you know it.

"Honey, if we worked at places where we got in trouble for taking a week off to take care of our daughter, then we wouldn't want to work there anyway." You can almost hear the eye roll in your mom's voice.

You start to voice another objection, but it comes out as a weak, "I'm okay, you don't have to worry about me."

"It's our job to worry about you, Max!" your mom counters. "You don't have to pretend to be okay or pretend to be strong for us. You aren't okay right now, and it is perfectly fine for you not to be okay right now. We are here to help you with what you are going through."

"Max, I know we’re cramping your style, but let us helicopter parent for a while," your dad chuckles. "It will make us feel better, and we will be out of your hair before you know it."

You decide to give up on getting them to leave town for now. Maybe you will have better luck in a few days.

"I kind of like you in my hair," you mumble.

It earns you another chuckle and a kiss on the side of your head from your dad.

"Glad we can be of service," he grinned.

Your dad's mood is infectious, and despite everything you feel a huge, genuine smile work it's way on to your face. Your mom returns to her place on the other side of you, one of her arms wrapped loosely around your back.

"I assume you want me to be close, while you are helicopter parenting?" you say as you motion to the unoccupied bed.

"We hadn't even considered that," he says in mock shock, voice full of mirth. "But since you suggested, sure why not."

"I think that's a great idea, Max," your mom agrees with a smile in her voice.

You roll your eyes at the two of them, but your smile only grows wider. You love your parents so much and telling them that earns you a shower of affection.

You're not okay right now, but for the first time, you feel like maybe you can be okay. Eventually.

* * *

You spend some time with your parents in their hotel room, before getting lunch with them and heading to the police station for your interview.

The police station is abuzz with activity when you arrive just before 1 pm. Your parents reassure you that they will be here when you are done, and take a seat in the lobby.

You approach the front desk and tell them that you are here to see Special Agent Paxton. After a moment, an intimidating Latina woman approaches you, her steps purposeful and expeditious. She towers over you as she extends a hand for you to shake. You give her hand a weak shake and notice the badge and gun holstered on the hip of her pantsuit. She reminds you of a bloodhound for some reason. Despite her appearance, her voice is cordial as she greets you.

"I'm Special Agent Valerie Paxton, FBI, we spoke on the phone," she says, reintroducing herself. "You must be Ms. Caulfield?"

"Yes, but...uh, Max is fine," you reply, just able to keep the worst of your nerves out of your voice.

"Of course, Max, right this way."

She leads you to a room labeled "Interrogation 1". The door opens to reveal a small, windowless room bathed in harsh, too bright fluorescent light. There are three plastic chairs surrounding a cheap looking laminate table, two on one side and one on the other. On the table, there is a small cardboard box and several bottles of water. Two men are already inside, one of whom is fiddling with a video camera on a tripod.

You sit on one of the chairs, as expected it's cold and uncomfortable.

"Sorry about having to conduct the interview in here. Unfortunately, we don't have any other suitable facilities,” Special Agent Paxton explains. “I want to assure you that you aren't in any trouble. We just want to know what you witnessed in the bathroom yesterday, and also ask you a few questions about Mark Jefferson."

Good. You weren't expecting questions about Jefferson, but that will make it easier. You can fill in the blanks for the police. You swallow and nod your understanding. She continues.

"This is Detective Michael Anderson with the Oregon State Police." She motions to the stocky man standing to her right with a legal pad in his hand. "and that is Lieutenant Chris Rossi with the Arcadia Bay Police Department." She points to the bald, stout man still fiddling with the camera.

They both nod your way.

"This is a joint investigation between all of our agencies, and they are both here to observe this interview. If you have any questions or need clarification at anytime, feel free to ask." She smiles, her tone still amiable.

You nod again.

Special Agent Paxton and Detective Anderson sit across from you. Paxton motions to Lieutenant Rossi and you see a red light on the video camera. Anderson begins writing on his legal pad. You can't help but remember being duct taped to that chair in the chair, with a camera pointed at you.

"Can you state your name?"

"M-Max Caulfield." You can't even say your name, how the hell are you going to get through this? Your anxiety is building.

"Can you please tell me in your own words, in as much detail as you can, what happened in the first floor girls' bathroom of Blackwell Academy on Monday, October 7th, 2013?"

You take a deep breath trying to fend off your growing anxiety. You have to do this for Chloe and Rachel and Kate. You have to get them justice. You can't be helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. You have to, for once in your life, be brave. You can't fail them again. You won't fail them again.

"I, uh, went in there after class. I was having a rough day... I was frustrated about the photo I was thinking about submitting for the Everyday Heroes Contest...” You pause remembering Chloe’s terrified call about The Storm, as you sat in the Zeitgeist gallery, the primal fear in her voice. You shake the memory out of your head before you speak again.

“I didn't think it was good enough so I ended up ripping it up… So, uh, I splashed some water on my face, and I was just trying to calm down a bit. I saw a butterfly and thought that maybe it would make a good shot..." You wince at the word shot and pause. Not the best word choice.

"Take your time," Paxton reassures.

You take another deep breath and continue. "So I, uh, followed it into the corner of the bathroom and took a photo. Then Nathan busted in. It scared me and I dropped the photo I took. He started rambling, so I stayed hidden."

Paxton nods her understanding.

"After a bit, I heard Chloe come in. They started arguing very loudly. I peeked around the corner and saw Nathan push Chloe against the wall. He was pointing a gun at her… And then… And then... he shot her. I jumped back around the corner because I was terrified... Just after that, I heard David come in, and he knocked out Nathan. I looked around the corner again, and David saw me. He told me to put pressure on Chloe's wound. I did that until the paramedics came."

"You're doing great Max," Paxton encourages. "Now, I want to ask you a few questions to clarify what you just told me."

You nod. She pulls an evidence bag out of the box and sets it in front of you. Through the plastic, you can see that it is your would-be contest submission, torn and covered in blood.

"You said you ripped up a photo you didn't like, is this the photo?"

"Yes."

"You said you took a photo of a butterfly and dropped it, correct?"

"Yes."

Paxton pulls out another evidence bag, this is the one with your photo of the butterfly you assume. She places it in front of you and it isn't the photo of the butterfly. It's just a photo of the bucket, where the butterfly landed. The butterfly isn't in the picture anymore. It doesn't glimmer or blur either. Why did the butterfly disappear from the photo? You remember it clearly in the picture as you let it flutter to the ground. Maybe it was like the pictures you tried to take of the doe and there turned out to be no doe in the photo?

"This was the only other photo in the bathroom, can you explain to me why there isn't a butterfly in it?" Her tone is even, but you saw suspicion flash in her eyes for a second.

Fuck. You get a strong urge to try to rewind but resist it. You aren't sure if even can anymore, and even if you could you really don't want to. You know what the repercussions of rewinding would be, and you are definitely not going to start The Storm again. Assuming it isn't already on its way, of course.

You don't know what else to do except shrug it off. Not like you can tell them about the time travel or anything.

"Uh, maybe the light ruined it while it was developing? I'm not sure. I know I saw a butterfly."

She doesn't seem to buy it but continues anyway.

"Do you know Nathan Prescott?" she asks.

"No- well yes. I know of him I guess. He is kind of a big deal at Blackwell since his parents fund basically everything there."

"How about Chloe Price? Do you know her?"

"Yes. I've known Chloe since I was 4. She is my best friend." The words pour out of your mouth without your brain's permission.

Suspicion flickers through Paxton's eyes again. That wasn't a good answer.

"Did you know Chloe was going to be in that bathroom beforehand?" Paxton's tone isn't accusatory, but the question certainly is.

"No, I mean we haven't even talked in five years." Not in this timeline at least. You hope you didn’t betray the fact that you kind of did, since you lived through that moment several times before what happened yesterday.

"You said she is your best friend, but you also said you haven't talked to her in five years. Can you explain that to me."

"My dad got a new job in 2008, and we moved to Seattle. I came back in September to go to Blackwell. I didn't do a good job of keeping in touch with her over the years. I still consider her my best friend even though we haven't talked in five years. I hadn't worked up the courage to talk to her again. I didn't even recognize her in the bathroom, until after..." Your words peter out.

"Okay, thank you for clarifying that for me Max," she says, seeming to believe you. "You said that Nathan was rambling in the bathroom, can you tell me what he was rambling about?"

"He was kind of giving himself a pep talk I guess. He said he owned the school. He said he could blow the school up if he wanted to…" You take extra care to insert that last detail, even though you think it wasn’t a real threat.

Paxton and Anderson take notice and exchange an uneasy look before Paxton continues.

"You said that Nathan and Chloe were arguing in the bathroom. Can you please describe, to the best of your memory, what they were arguing about?"

You were expecting this question. You know Chloe was trying to blackmail him, and that would get her in trouble too. You hadn't come up with a good answer.

"I don't really remember, I was freaking out," you lie. Everyone in the room knows it was a lie. Like Chloe said during That Week, there was no way you didn't hear every single vowel. Paxton gives you another chance.

"Take your time Max. Try to remember as best as you can," Paxton urges you gently.

You can't get Chloe in trouble, but it dawns on you Nathan probably already told them about the blackmail threat in the bathroom. You wrack your brain for some way to soften it. A memory strikes you. If he confessed to some stuff, maybe he confessed to drugging Chloe. If not they could probably find that sick picture he took of Chloe lying on his floor drugged. You gamble.

"I don't remember exactly…" You trail off before taking a deep breath. "But, I remember Chloe saying something about Nathan drugging her, taking pictures of her, and trying to rape her. She wanted money to keep quiet about it."

It wasn't exactly the whole truth. Chloe hadn't mentioned that directly in the bathroom. She only mentioned it after when you were together at the lighthouse during That Week. You also didn’t tell them about Chloe going with Nathan to steal from him to pay Frank back.

But, it was mostly the truth. Nathan had drugged her and took pictures of her, and she heavily implied the last bit. Knowing what you know now, you know even if that didn’t happen she could have easily ended up being another victim of the Dark Room. Perish the thought.

Paxton's expression falters slightly before returning to neutral. Your gamble paid off, either she found that photo already or Nathan already confessed to that. That's a relief at least. Hopefully, Chloe won't get in too much trouble for the blackmail stuff given the circumstances.

"Is that all you remember about their argument?" she asks.

"After that, he said something like you don't know who you're messing with, and Chloe was yelling at him to get the gun away from her. Then he..." Your voice fades at the memory.

"Thank you, Max, you're doing great. Just a few more questions and you will be done," she says, an earnest smile on her face.

"Ok."

"That was all I wanted to ask you about what happened in the bathroom. Now I want to ask you a few questions about Mark Jefferson."

You flinch at his name, but make a sound of assent.

"Do you know Mark Jefferson."

"Y-yes. He w-was my photography t-teacher." Your composure is gone.

"Do you know that he was arrested yesterday?"

"Y-yeah."

"Do you know why?"

"T-the article I read said he arrested in connection to the… the d-disappearance of Rachel Amber, that the p-police had found her b-body. It said he had d-drugs, syringes, and tape in his car..." You pause. "W-why are you asking me about J-Jefferson? I didn't know Rachel Amber?" Hopefully, you can get a picture of the blanks you need to fill in.

Paxton considers you for a moment before speaking. "Yesterday, when we were interrogating Nathan, he confessed to kidnapping Ms. Amber with Mark Jefferson's help. He told us he accidentally gave her an overdose that killed her and where they buried her. He told us there were other victims but didn't give us any details. He broke down and kept repeating the phrases ‘Rachel in the Dark Room, Max in the Dark Room, Rachel in the Dark Room, Max in the Dark Room.' We were hoping maybe you could provide some insight into this Dark Room."

You feel your chest tighten. The memories inundate you.

Jefferson posing you on that backdrop, manhandling you like a rag doll.

The hazy feeling of being drugged, your wrists and ankles duct taped together as he stands over you taking pictures.

The feeling of being duct taped to that chair. The adhesive against your skin, the wood biting into your skin from the too tight binds.

Jefferson waxing poetic about your innocence and purity. His hubris about how much of a genius he was and how he would never get caught. You can smell the whiskey on his breath.

Tears prickle your eyes and your breathing is unsteady. You start to feel dizzy and your hands are shaking like leaves in a gale. You feel bile rising in your throat. Your reaction doesn't go unnoticed.

"Max?" Paxton coaxes.

Fuck. They have to know from your reaction that you know about the Dark Room. How else can you explain your reaction? You aren't supposed to know about that in this timeline. You never went to the Dark Room in this timeline.

"Max?" Paxton says again clearly alarmed by your reaction.

Chloe's words catapult back into your mind. "And you'll make those fuckers pay for what they did to Rachel."

You have to do this for Chloe and Rachel and Kate. You can't be helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. You can't fail Chloe. You can't let Kate think that she did anything wrong. You have to get justice for Rachel. You breathe deeply, your panic replaced by anger.

Your anger grows as you remember flipping through the photos in Kate's binder. Seeing her glassy-eyed and near unconscious, posed at Jefferson's whim. It grows more as you remember the photos of Rachel Amber. The one of her curled up with a look filled with both terror and fury. The one of her unconscious and bound. The one of Rachel, likely dead, laying on top of Nathan, posed on top of Rachel's soon to be shallow grave.

Your rage reaches a crescendo. Your hands are shaking for an entirely different reason now. You wish they were around that sick fucker's throat right now.

"I think we should take a break, Max. We can-"

"It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots," you growl, interrupting her. "Jefferson is arrested in connection with Rachel Amber's disappearance and murder. He had drugs, syringes, and tape in his car. And then his accomplice Nathan says there were other victims and my name repeatedly. You think I was going to be their next victim."

"We believe it was their intention to do so, yes," Paxton affirms after a brief pause. "But that won't happen. They are in jail now. They can't hurt you."

It's too late for that, Jefferson already hurt you in unimaginable ways. But you will bury him. You will make him pay for what he did to you, Rachel, Kate, and every single other girl in those binders. You take some more deep breaths to take the edge off of your anger. You consider how to give them a clue about the Dark Room delicately. You decide it's probably best to stick to as close to the truth as possible.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break, Max?”

You nod your head. You have to do this now.

"These next questions may be hard for you, but I need you to be honest with me, Max."

"Of c-course."

"Did Mark Jefferson ever try to touch you in an inappropriate manner?" Paxton is very uncomfortable.

You shake your head, despite the overpowering urge to scream yes.

"Did Mark Jefferson ever drug you or try to drug you?"

Another head shake, as you remember the needle stinging your neck.

"Did you ever go anywhere off campus with Mark Jefferson?"

You shake your head again.

"Did Mark Jefferson ever mention somewhere that could be a Dark Room?"

That's the opening you need. "Uh, he mentioned once in p-passing… that he had a special studio where he took… exceptional students… like me... I think he said it was in a storm cellar in a barn." Your voice wavers, you hope you can pass off your half-truth as nerves or maybe disgusted anger.

She seems to buy it. "Do you have any idea where this barn might be?"

You shake your head before volunteering something you hope will be helpful, without exposing that you know things you shouldn’t. "No idea, but I think… I think he said the Prescotts funded it. To nurture... s-special students."

“Is there anything else you remember about this barn he mentioned?”

“No.”

"Ok, then. Thank you for your time, Max. Those are all the questions we have for you. Unless you have anything else to add, we are finished with this interview," Paxton says.

You shake your head.

“Alright then.” Paxton stands and motions to Rossi to turn off the camera.

She moves to put the evidence bags she laid out back into the cardboard box. As she picks up the photo that was supposed to have the butterfly in it, you realize you should probably take it. You still aren’t sure about The Storm and need it just in case. Even though it didn’t blur when you first looked at, you don’t know if there is another photo that you can jump into if need be. You hope you won’t need to jump back.

“Umm… Special Agent Paxton, can I have that photo back?” you ask, pointing to it.

“Of course. It’s not pertinent to the case,” she says as she turns to you. She pulls it out of the evidence bag before handing it to you.

You thank her for it and stand. You put it in your pocket for safe keeping.

As you are led out you notice a very serious look on Paxton's face, you can almost see the wheels turning in her head. You hope they can connect the dots between the barn and the Prescotts. You also hope your clues were subtle enough that you didn't expose the fact you know things that you aren't supposed to.

As you approach the lobby, Paxton turns to you. "If you think of anything else, please give us a call."

"I will… I-I want to help as much as I can in getting justice for… for Rachel." You hesitate before continuing. "Can you let me know if you find this… Dark Room?"

You hope you can stay kind of in the loop, and slip them another clue if necessary.

"Of course Max, we will keep you updated with any major developments in the case."

Paxton leaves you and you walk into the lobby to find your parents. When they see you, they both hug you and tell you how proud of you they are. For now, at least, you feel like you aren't helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield.

* * *

Your parents take you to Blackwell, to pack a bag for your stay with them. You tell them you have to talk to a friend as well, and it might take a while. They tell you to take your time and you sprint to your dorm room in an attempt to outrun the memories of That Week. You focus on the task at hand to keep them at bay.

You pack a bag and take the opportunity to slip on your standard garb, enjoying being in a hoodie (and underwear!) again. You still feel a bit weird without your messenger bag glued to your shoulder, but that can’t be helped for now. You fold the borrowed clothes and place them on your sofa, making a mental note to wash and return them as soon as possible.

You then immediately go to knock on Kate's door, announcing that it is you. You erase the mean "Will bang 4 Jesus" message off her slate as you hear movement inside.

The door opens to reveal Kate, disheveled and clearly having been crying. Your heart wrenches in your chest. You smother Kate in a hug, which takes her by surprise.

"Max?" Kate asks you confused.

When you don't answer she just returns your hug.

You look into the room behind her. It is dark and messy, just like it was during That Week. You remember the less than pleasant messages from Kate's mom and aunt. You remember her telling you how humiliating that video was. You remember the look of total desolation on her face when you told her that the police wouldn't believe her without more evidence. You remember being too self-interested, and not worrying enough about her. Being more worried about your scholarship than the life of your friend.

You remember her falling from the roof as you looked on from below.

You become even more determined to ensure that she doesn't end up on that roof this afternoon or ever for that matter.

You still feel the vestiges of anger from the police interview. You will not fail her like when you didn’t stop David from harassing her. You will not fail her like you did when you didn’t answer her call.

You will not fail her again.

You push her to sit on her unmade bed and sit next to her.

"Kate, are you okay?" you ask. You aren't sure what else to say, without revealing what you know. You hope you don't fuck this up.

"Max, why are you asking me if I'm okay? You were covered in blood yesterday, after seeing someone get shot. I want to know if you’re okay!" Kate insists. Her genuine concern also serves as a deflection to your question.

"I'm as okay as I can be." You shrug and continue carefully, "But I'm worried about you…I know there is that video out there..."

"You watched it?!" Kate panics, she looks ready to cry again.

"I would never, Kate!" you say firmly and honestly. "I just know people here can be awful... I want you to know that no matter what I'm here for you. I want you to know that you are my friend and that I care about you. You are not alone."

The panic on Kate's face is replaced by guilt as she looks away from you.

"Max…" She pauses and you see her throat bob with a swallow. "I think Nathan and Mr. Jefferson might've… might've drugged and kidnapped me last Friday."

"What happened?" you ask gently, despite knowing what happened. You ask so you can help her fill in the gaps, you just hope it's not too painful for her.

"I went to the Vortex Club party last Friday and ended up making out with a bunch of people," she says with self-contempt. "I only took one sip of red wine, but I remember feeling sick and dizzy. Nathan said he would take me to the hospital… and I thought… I thought he did. I remember waking up in a bright white room. Nathan was talking to someone and then I felt a sharp sting on my neck. I don't remember what else happened… I just r-remember waking up outside of my dorm room the next day… I didn't have any marks or bruises, but I felt so gross."

She pauses for a moment as tears begin running down her face. You cautiously put an arm around her shoulder. You know the gross feeling she's talking about all too well. You focus on Kate instead of the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Then… Then I read the news yesterday… that they arrested Mr. Jefferson with drugs and needles… and found that poor girl Rachel..." she continues, before pausing.

"You believe me right, Max?" She looks up at you, a look of total terror on her face. Terror that you won’t believe her.

"Of course I believe you, Kate!" you say emphatically.

The terror on her face doesn’t all leave, but there is some relief mixed in. There is another pause as Kate considered something.

“S-should I go to the police, Max?”

"You should go to the police, Kate and tell them what happened to you."

She looks down again the tears are more rapid now.

"But what if they don't believe me? What if they think I'm just a viral... slut like everyone else?"

You crouch in front of her and grab her hands, much like your mom did earlier today. You figure if it helped you it might help Kate too. You command her softly to look at you. It takes her a minute, but she does.

"Kate, listen to me. You are not a slut. You were drugged," you say. “And the police will believe you.” You know what they will find in the Dark Room, and if you have to literally drag them there you will do it.

"But I still made out with those people Max drugs or no!" she yells. "I'm a jezebel, just like my aunt says!"

"You were drugged! You didn't consent to any of that stuff! Fuck what your aunt says, you were a victim!"

"B-but I still went to that party. And I went with Nathan too. If I d-didn't go then I w-wouldn't have been drugged or kidnapped."

"Kate, what happened to you was not your fault. You couldn't have known that any of that would happen. Nathan and Jefferson hurt you, and none of that was your fault."

Her eyes are searching yours for something, and she must find whatever she is looking for. She closes her eyes before speaking again.

"I don't deserve you, Max," she whispers. "I'm a terrible friend. You just went through something horrible and here you are comforting me."

"Don't say that, Kate. You went through some terrible stuff too, of course, I'm here to comfort you. And you've been a great friend to me. You are the nicest, sweetest person I know. That bunny picture really cheered me up yesterday."

A small smile graces her face. You hand her a tissue and sit back next to her as she calms down.

"Now Kate, we are going to get that video taken down, and then we are going to call the police. We are going to get justice for you." you say as you urge her to move off the bed.

She nods. As you both stand to go to her computer, she gives you a big hug, thanking you for being such a good friend. You hug her back, telling her that you will always be there for her no matter what.

You grab her spare chair and as promised you help her fill out the form to take down the Youtube video. You then give her Special Agent Paxton's number and help her talk to Paxton. Kate is able to tell Paxton the basics of what happened with your reassurances. Paxton is kind and attentive the entire time. The call ends after Kate schedules an official witness interview for the following day at noon.

Once she hangs up, Kate just stares at the phone in her hand.

“Hey, Kate, are you okay?” you ask, as you put a hand on her wrist. It draws her from her thoughts and she looks at you.

“I’m just wondering if… if I should tell my parents,” she says nervously.

You consider her question for a moment. You know her hesitation is about her mom, and from the email you read, you can understand why. You know she can count on her dad. He loves her without question. You remember it was telling her as much was what finally convinced her to step down off that ledge during That Week. You decide to steer her to talk to him first.

“I think you should tell your dad first. I saw his card and I know he loves you without question.”

“I-I think you’re right Max.”

She brings up his number but pauses before hitting call. She looks up at you again, her nervousness etched on her face.

“I’ll be right here with you, Kate.”

She nods and hits the call button. You don’t question it when she puts it on speaker.

It’s a hard conversation for Kate, much harder than the one she had with Special Agent Paxton. She starts crying almost immediately. You rub her upper arm to calm her down, and it seems to work. The tears slow and her breathing becomes more steady. She starts to work her way through the story slowly and eventually gets through all of it including the witness interview she scheduled.

As predicted, her father is loving, supportive, and non-judgemental. He echoes your earlier sentiment, telling her that it wasn’t her fault and that she didn’t deserve anything that happened to her. He tells her that he will drive in from Portland tonight and he will take her to the police station tomorrow.

Kate thanks you profusely once the call ends, squeezing you in a tight hug. You offer to go with her as well, but she declines. She says you have done more than enough, and with her dad coming she will be okay. She tells you that for the first time since she woke up the morning after she was drugged, she feels hopeful thanks to you.

She tries to prod you more about yesterday, clearly concerned, but you shrug it off telling her that you aren’t ready to talk about it. She tells you that she will be ready to talk whenever you are. You nod and as you are leaving Kate calls you her angel. It reminds you of Chloe calling Rachel her angel after you found that picture of them. You try to ignore the memory. This isn’t the time or place for a breakdown.

You make a non-committal noise, before retreating to your room and grabbing your bag. You notice Lisa's slightly wilting leaves and water her before you leave. Maybe you can keep something alive.

You get to the parking lot quickly, determined to see Chloe.

Your parents are curious about your conversation apparently because of your mood change. You give them the broad strokes of what happened to Kate. They use the word hero again. You have to swallow a retch as you get in the car.

* * *

The warm afternoon sun is cascading into Chloe's hospital room from the two windows on the far wall, as you enter with your parents in tow. Joyce and David are sitting in chairs pushed together between the two windows, holding hands. Along the left wall, there are more chairs and a TV mounted to the wall above them, which is on with the volume low.

Chloe's bed on the right wall is still surrounded by the same machines as yesterday. There are now a few get well soon balloons next to it as well as several cards with well wishes scattered about.

The tubes and cords are still numerous but look like they have been moved slightly, you assume to replace whatever needed replacing. The tube for the ventilator is still in her mouth.

The color has returned to her skin and she looks generally healthier, but she still lies there lifeless. The ventilator still makes her breathe in an unsettling, mechanical pattern.

You swallow thickly as tears bite at your eyes. Nightmare Chloe's words ring in your ears, cutting into you like razor-sharp knives.

"Look at the consequences of your failures. Look at what you did to me!"

"I never loved you, how could I love a failure like you Max?"

"Honey?" your mom asks as you feel her arm around your shoulder.

You realize that you had stopped just inside the doorway, and everyone in the room had their eyes on you. You can't be in here.

"I need a minute… I'm going to get a soda or something…" you mumble, looking in your mom's direction.

"Sweetie…" your mom tries, but your head shaking cuts her off.

"I'll be fine. Just a minute," you say with an attempt at a smile. You assume the attempt is feeble as the worry on your mom's face doesn't change at all. Nonetheless, she allows you out of her grasp.

You sprint out of the room and out of the hospital towards the treeline at the edge of the parking lot. You run because despite your relative strength today, you can't keep pretending that you aren't helpless, worthless little Max Caulfield. You can't keep pretending that you didn't fail Chloe again and again and again.

You see the tree you leaned against yesterday, clearly marked with Chloe's blood. You drop to your hands and knees in the grass. The dam that held the guilt at bay bursts like a wall of twigs and the guilt engulfs you again.

You retch hard, puking up everything in your stomach on to the grass. A few more dry heaves hack through you after your stomach is empty for good measure.

You crawl over to the blood-stained tree, avoiding your vomit, and collapse against its base. You hug your knees to yourself as you feel the tears start again. Nightmare Chloe's words echo endlessly in your head.

"I never loved you, how could I love a failure like you Max?"

You sit there for a long while crying and ruminating.

Eventually, you are able to push away your tears and collect yourself, the dam shoddily reconstructed for now. You stumble back into the hospital going into the nearest bathroom. You wash your face and rinse the taste of vomit out of your mouth. You brush at the dirt on your pant legs, but your jeans are clearly stained. You grab a Dr. Pepper on your way back to Chloe's room.

You pause outside the door, at your mom's raised voice.

"-going to look for her." She is very clearly worried.

"Vanessa, give her a few more minutes, she wanted to be alone," your dad argues.

"She's been gone for almost an hour. She shouldn't be alone right now-" your mom says before your dad interrupts.

"Give her 5 more minutes," your dad placates. “Then we will go look for her together.”

You hear your mom sigh before giving an affirmative sound, and you decide to make your entrance.

"Your mom was ready to send out a search party." your dad snickers as he sees you. Your mom gives him an elbow, but there is a smile on her face all the same. You see their eyes flicker over the dirt on your pants, but they don't say anything and you are so thankful for that.

The five of you sit in Chloe's room for several hours and fill the time with mostly mindless, inconsequential chatter and TV watching. You and David rarely chime in though. He is extremely tense and uncomfortable. The chatter conspicuously avoids the elephant in the room: Chloe, her condition, and how she got in this state.

A nurse, whose name you don’t catch, periodically comes into the room checking various machines and such.

There are occasional stories about some of yours and Chloe's shenanigans when you were younger. They fill you with equal amounts of nostalgia and guilt. Joyce occasionally gets a look in her eye that you can't quite place, but she seems mostly okay. Or at least she is holding herself together much better than you are.

At some point, Dr. Hughes comes in. He says that Chloe’s condition hasn’t changed since the previous day, nor has their treatment plan. She will remain sedated until Thursday, and at that point, they will wake her up. If the pain and stress are not manageable, they will put her back under sedation until such time that it is.

You don't engage much in the conversation. Your focus is on the evening sky, waiting for an eclipse that never comes. It doesn't quell your worries about The Storm as much as it should.

Once it starts to get dark, your parents insist on taking Joyce (and David) out to dinner as a thank you for taking care of you. Joyce's protests saying if anything she should be treating you and your parents. You pointedly ignore when she says it's because you helped save Chloe. You pointedly ignore when she says you and David were heroes. Your parents stand firm though and Joyce relents.

Your parents take you all to a fancy seafood restaurant, Fedorov's Fine Seafood, that apparently replaced Pacific Steve's Famous Crab. Fancy is relative of course. It's not fine dining, but for Arcadia Bay it's as fancy as it gets.

You try not to think about the fact that you were standing on Rachel's grave when you were looking at the Pacific Steve's Famous Crab sign in the Junkyard.

You get a lobster roll with fries and hushpuppies. You hate the food, especially the hushpuppies. You're not sure if it's because the food is actually bad, or if it's because you aren't stealing the hushpuppies off Chloe's plate like you did when you were younger.

You wolf your food down in silence anyway; your earlier puking makes you ravenous.

You and your parents split off from Joyce and David, heading back to the Harbor Inn. You watch a few hours of TV with them mindlessly, before silently crying yourself into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I haven't had as much time as I would've like to work on this, but I will try to update consistently.
> 
> Feedback is always greatly appreciated!
> 
> Hope you are enjoying the story, and are having a nice day!


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